


The Last Two People in the World

by diokoxkristof



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gore, M/M, just pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 17:02:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19873021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diokoxkristof/pseuds/diokoxkristof
Summary: There was a change in the air, a ringing of a well-oiled sword being unsheathed, and a gruesome and deep cry of pain. A dark figure forcefully tugged him away from the orc, when he briefly glanced up his vision was filled by copper, pale skin and yellow cat eyes.Lambert scrambled to stand up, knuckles white on the handle of his sword, the man beside him wasted no time and attacked the orc once more, his silver leaving gashes of blood and pus everywhere it touched; Lambert followed his body, letting his instincts take over, his attacks landing true on the monster’s chest.Soon the orc was on the ground, crimson slowly seeping out of the cuts and poisoning the ground below it, but Lambert wasn't done, he stepped with purpose towards the carcass but a hand on his wrist held him back.“It’s dead, calm down.”He turned and curled up his lips, baring his teeth, a growl starting low in his chest and rising in his throat. The other looked at him, unthreatened but still somewhat worried.“There are no more enemies for you to kill I’m afraid, I’m sure we could find some drowners if you really needed to slash up something alive, but I don’t want to go looking for them to be honest.”





	The Last Two People in the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OpheliaTheMoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaTheMoth/gifts).



The smell inside the cave, if that is what you call a hole in a swampy mound of dirt, was sulphuric and rotten-sweet; Lambert’s steps were muffled by the softness of the ground and his pupils were blown wide to see into the darkness ahead.  
He debated on the necessity of a cat potion, but decided against it, he needed to keep his toxicity low and his colour vision as intact as possible; his master had warned him of the dangers associated with Orcs, as rare as they were, and their tendency to blend in with their surroundings. Safe in his satchel was a golden ring, a small token that he needed to break the curse on the man inside the cave. Apparently he was cursed when he proposed to a young girl in the village, by the girl’s mother herself. Not too messy for a job, it wouldn’t be too dangerous if he avoided fighting.

The moment he saw the purulent figure of the orc lying in the back of the cave, human bones scattered around it, was also when he heard a noise behind himself, turned, and saw his employer’s chubby body, squeezed as it always was into his ruined, ornate garments; it never failed to make him look more like a sausage than a person. Lambert realised it wouldn't be an easy job at all.  
The man paddled blindly along the passage to get beside the hunter while muttering soft curses, his hard leather boots squelching at every step, filled with water and damp stockings.

“Witcher! Is the job done?”

It had taken the monster all of five seconds to hear the man and quickly rise from his slumber to crush him with its enormous rotting hands, bones breaking through the flesh of the mangled corpse with snapping sounds. Lambert managed to roll out of the way just before the blow hit, there was no way he could protect himself and the man at the same time against something as dangerous this; his life was worth more than a handful of coins.  
He ran back to the open, breath controlled in his chest and steps quick on the mud.  
This was exactly the reason he hated escorting contracts, dumb fuckers the lot of those noble idiots, and the ones who ended up paying the steepest prices where always those like him, not even curse-breaking was safe now, what would he give for a few dumb drowners in the middle of Velen right now, no humans for miles, just monsters to kill.

There are a number of factors that play a role into a successful hunt; Vesimir always warned him about the dangers of one of those in particular: you could be perfectly in shape, have taken the best potions for the job, your blades sharp enough to cut through rock and your opponent weak and unprepared, but if chance was against you nothing else would count.

Lambert realised that fate had plans for him that day when he fell to the ground, his heartbeat quickly sped up, blood and adrenaline rushing to his head and feeding into a single instinct; to fight. These are the situations where the differences between humans and witchers truly shine, while humans have a fight or flight instinct when faced with their impending doom witchers always run towards danger headfirst, it takes an active effort on their part to back away from any kind fight and Lambert had already exhausted his will while fleeing from the cave.  
The orc loomed above Lambert’s defenceless form, he was laying on his back and his view was filled with the disgusting figure of the monster; heavy, fatty flash hanging off the bone of its arms like a sack filled with grease and the witcher wanted nothing more than to slice his blade across it and watch as its contents spilled to the ground.

There was a change in the air, a ringing of a well-oiled sword being unsheathed, and a gruesome and deep cry of pain. A dark figure forcefully tugged him away from the orc, when he briefly glanced up his vision was filled by copper, pale skin and yellow cat eyes.

Lambert scrambled to stand up, knuckles white on the handle of his sword, the man beside him wasted no time and attacked the orc once more, his silver leaving gashes of blood and pus everywhere it touched; Lambert followed his body, letting his instincts take over, his attacks landing true on the monster’s chest.  
Soon the orc was on the ground, crimson slowly seeping out of the cuts and poisoning the ground below it, but Lambert wasn't done, he stepped with purpose towards the carcass but a hand on his wrist held him back.

“It’s dead, calm down.”  
He turned and curled up his lips, baring his teeth, a growl starting low in his chest and rising in his throat. The other looked at him, unthreatened but still somewhat worried.  
“There are no more enemies for you to kill I’m afraid, I’m sure we could find some drowners if you really needed to slash up something alive, but I don’t want to go looking for them to be honest.”

Lambert stared at the man for a few seconds more, another witcher, and felt his heart pumping too fast, his pupils were still dilated and everything was too bright, his armour was caked in mud and heavy and cold.  
He jerked his wrist free and run his hands up and down himself, getting mostly rid of the filth that still clung to him after the fight.  
“Who the fuck are you?”  
“Wow, so much for saving your life.”  
The redhead smiled and patted the other witcher on the back, Lambert noticed long and sharp teeth, sharper than his own, and got himself calm enough to really look at the man who just fought beside him.  
He noticed the freckles that completely covered the other’s face in tiny dots that clashed with splashes of mud and blood from the recent battle, he had a scar, still angry and red, running from the side of his right eye all the way to his short hair and, of course, bright witcher eyes, the pupils so thin they almost disappeared.  
“… thank you for that, but I would have managed.”

The other simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged, an easy smirk still on his lips.  
“I don’t doubt that, you fight well, but I had a contract on the orc anyway- I haven’t asked your name.”  
The sudden change in topic left Lambert unsure for a second, but he quickly answered.  
“I’m Lambert, and what do you mean you had a contract for the orc?”  
“Lambert, like the sound, I’m Aiden. And I had an extermination contract, some woman wanted it dead and was willing to pay well for it, 200 crowns.”  
Lambert let out a whistle, his own contract was for the same exact reward.  
“Well, I was hired to break the curse over the orc, it was human before, but my employer followed me and fucked everything up.”

Aiden smiled and crouched in front of the dead monster, took out a knife and started cutting.  
“I think we should split the reward since we took it down together, are you up to follow me back to the village? We could get a room for the night, a nice pint of beer maybe.”  
Lambert wasn’t sure he heard correctly for the first few seconds, but then he thought about the offer, a bath and a clean bed sounded good, but he didn't really know the guy, even if he saved his life.  
“… we are drinking vodka, just to be clear.”  
Aiden looked up to him and smiled, small dimples creased his cheeks and the dying light of the sun reflected off his eyes like a mirror.

“Vodka it is.”

.  
.  
.

Lambert decided to trust Aiden to go and collect the reward, it wasn’t in his nature to do so but if the guy wanted to fuck him over he would have done so already, not to mention that he did save his life and offered to split the coin.  
The witcher wasn't afforded much kindness in his life, and liked the feeling of it, he hoped the man would come back and make good on his promise but wasn’t counting on it, better to prepare for the worse than hope for the best Vesimir always said.

He got a room with two beds, avoiding eye contact with the tavern owner who sized him up, he must have looked a mess with his muddy clothes and dried blood. The woman behind the counter huffed and accepted the crowns before hollering to a boy across the semi-desert room.  
“Get the mutant water for a bath, he stinks.”  
She looked up at him again.  
“Don’t count on warm water, I know you freaks can heat it up yourselves.”  
Lambert raised a brow.  
“How would you know that?”  
“Hardly the first mutant I come across. You stock all look the same with those eyes.”  
The witcher frowned and took a step back, so much for kindness.  
“If you keep insulting me I’ll take my coin to another inn.”  
She laughed, her tone foul and stark.  
“I’m not selective when it comes to coin, just like you lot aren’t when it’s about women.”  
Lambert was about to retort when Aiden walked up behind him, his steps made no sound on the rotten wood floor, he smiled sharply at the woman.  
“Let’s go Lambert, you need to wash and so do I.”

He put a hand on Lambert’s shoulder and lead him up the dusty stairs, the place was covered in cobwebs and had a papery smell permeating throughout, every piece of furniture had circular water stains and they looked bleached.  
“Now, I think she said our room was second on the left…”  
Aiden smiled cheerily and Lambert only grew more confused, that wasn't normal, witchers were never this friendly, ever. He had heard that the witchers of the school of the griffin, coming from Toussaint, were more friendly but then again they used signs and he hadn’t seen Aiden cast anything when they fought.

“What is your school? Haven’t asked you yet.”  
Lambert turned the key and opened the wobbly door, anyone could break in with minimal effort and he wasn’t even sure a key was needed at all to enter.  
He took a few steps in the mouldy room, dark spots were all over the bleak walls and the measly furniture was comprised of two old beds and a table with a chair. It was cheap at the very least.

When he turned around he saw Aiden, still outside, looking down at his feet. He finally took a few slow steps and carefully placed his saddlebags on the table, opened a pocket on the inside and took out a shiny medallion.  
“I’m from the cat school.”  
The words tasted bitter, like a shameful open family secret, the kind that everyone in the village knows about and that stops chatter whenever you walk into a room.  
Lambert stood there, looking at the medallion in Aiden’s hand.

He had never been even remotely enamoured with the witcher trade, least of all his school, but everyone knew of the cats, everyone knew what they did at the witchers tournament, how they killed their wolves and griffins brothers alike, that they took contracts on humans, that they were psychotic, talked to the shadows only they could see and that, just sometimes, the shadows talked back.  
But the witcher in front of him only showed him kindness, helped him when not many others would have.

He took the medallion and put it around Aiden’s neck.

“You should wear it, you know? They aren’t given to us to look pretty.”

Aiden smiled again.

.  
.  
.

There were rumours going around in the north of two witchers working together. If you had the courage to go up to any witcher and ask them if they worked in pairs you would probably get a very confused grunt and a quick, negative answer.

But if you asked any of the lords, alderman, farmers and merchants that the pair had presumably worked for-  
Well, they would probably talk about a grumpy, stocky, dark-haired witcher and his other, more amiable and thin-looking, redhead colleague. They would tell you that they were quick and professional and had a fondness for drinking vodka after a job well-done.

That would really be all they had to see other than two cloaked figures with yellow eyes carrying medallions around their necks.

.  
.  
.

It was, somehow, always sunny in Toussaint. It would seem impossible that a region could always be so luminous and bright but Lambert didn't mind in the slightest, he liked the warmth and the general politeness the population seemed to display, a sudden and welcome difference from the streets of Novigrad. The region was quite infested with vampires and other monsters with fair too many legs for Lambert’s taste, but that meant an abundance of jobs.  
There were almost no bandits, merits of the service of errant knights, and crime was low. All in all a place the man could actually enjoy spending time in.

It was when he reached a crossroads that he smelled blood, awful and overpowering, mixed with fear.  
He didn't go looking for the source, but the more he rode towards his destination the more the smell became clear; the village was soon in sight and so was the massacre.

One of the few downsides of Toussaint’s hot and humid climate was how badly and quickly corpses rotted.  
Bloated bodies laid across the sparse collection of huts, many oozing liquid from quick cuts, all very precise wounds, meant to kill. There was a little boy that clung to his mother’s frame, still locked in rigor mortis. This could not have happened more than two days before, and the boy had taken a while longer than the others to die.

His horse batted away at the flies that surrounded them with his tail, and lambert decided, in a moment of incomprehensible worry, to look for the cause of the butchery.  
The tracks led ultimately to a trail of single steps, hard to follow and light, but frantic and clearly left in a panic. Broken branches in the woods surrounding the place lead him to a small cave.

As usual the smell hit him before he could see or hear anything, dried blood and pure terror coming off in waves from whatever creature lurked inside. He unsheathed his silver and slowly stepped into the opening, going down twisted tunnels and dark edges.

When he saw him he immediately knew it was Aiden, no matter that his hair looked black, covered in blood as it was, no matter his torn clothes and ruined leathers, no matter that his face was hidden between his drawn-up knees, he would always know him.

He approached him slowly, sheathing his sword back and lowering to a near crouch, he took the time to drink a cat potion, the world around him getting a little brighter.  
“Aiden…”  
The whisper seemed to carry over to the small figure against the wall, making it shiver and meddling with the slow and steady breathing it had held on for so long.

Aiden’s Yellow eyes peeked up, tired and cloudy, the little skin Lambert could see showed the first signs of dehydration and he was even thinner than the first time they met.  
“I’m going to come closer…”  
He said as he crawled towards him, he took Aiden’s hands and detangled them from his legs, helping him relax his form; he was covered in blood, head to toe, not unlike if he had taken a bath in it.

Lambert’s hands didn't shake, his body and mind were ready for an imminent battle that he wanted to take no part in, he carefully slid an arm around Aiden’s shoulders, lifting him up with no trouble, he could feel how skinny he was, how malnourished, a condition not unknown to any witcher, but it felt like a personal insult.

“Come, I got some water on my saddlebags and food, then you can get cleaned up.”  
Aiden looked up at him, his cheekbones were pronounced and his lips dry and cracked, he looked as he would cry if he could; His lips parted as if he was about to say something, his sharp teeth were stained with red, between them little slivers of something Lambert didn’t want to put a name on.  
Aiden must have realised and closed up again, slouching a bit more in the other’s hold.

“Let’s just go.”  
Lambert walked resolutely towards the entrance of the cave carrying Aiden with him, helping him back to the bright outside.  
And bright it was, blinding for Lambert and his intoxicated body, he had counted on fighting whatever monster he was faced with inside the cave, now back under the light of the sun his cat potions spared him no mercies.  
He still went to fetch his waterskin from his horse, leaving the other witcher sitting under the shade of a beautiful willow, the falling branches of the tree creating a sort of intimacy, a curtain to hide behind for the two of them.  
He offered Aiden the water, and when his only response was the other’s eyes looking up at him he tipped the drink to his lips himself.

“As a child I used to take willow branches and tear off all of their leaves, I would pretend it was a whip. I enjoyed it a lot for some reason, that game of pretend I had with myself.”  
He never talked about his past, with anyone, and he shouldn't talk about it with the man in front of him, but Aiden needed something and Lambert would give him anything if the other only asked, and he did.  
“Do you remember anything? From before the trials? Before the wolf school?”

Lambert closed his eyes, tried not to feel the strain in Aiden’s voice.  
“I remember my father and my mother, we didn't live far from the keep. He was a drunk, got saved by a witcher when he stumbled into a monster nest. I was payment for saving his life.”  
The other lowered his head, that story was all too common amongst those like them.  
“I went back, you know? After the trials. I remembered her, she used to sing me lullabies, I remembered where my house was, so I escaped, I went back.”  
Aiden’s eyes were focused on him, a certain kind of sadness behind them, the sadness that one feels when they already know how a tragedy ends and are nevertheless watching it play out.  
“I saw her first, she was hanging some laundry to dry. She was older than I remembered, but still the same, you know? I went up to her, called her out, called her mum, she saw me, and for a second she smiled, the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I felt like I used to when I could cry, and she ran towards me, she wanted to hug me.”

By now the water was forgotten on the ground, Aiden’s hand was on Lambert’s leg, comforting and weightless.  
“She saw my eyes before she touched me, she recoiled. I could see the disgust in her eyes and she screamed, she screamed louder than when they took me away.”  
“Lambert, I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked…”  
The two locked eyes, Aiden’s bloody face was scrunched-up, dry red flakes cracking up around his mouth and eyes.  
“You are the only one I would ever tell.”

They held each other, their slow hearts beating together.

.  
.  
.

Washing all of that blood off proved to be a chore, but the two managed, they didn't lack the experience. When they were finally done the sky had turned dark, the river was as clear as ever, and they were beside each other.

“They didn’t do anything wrong, you know?”  
Lambert turned towards Aiden, he looked paler than ever, his freckles painted his face like the night sky.  
“I had finished my contract, it was a lower vampire, I had gotten the coin. I was on my way out of the village, a man touched my shoulder and I just-”  
“Aiden, you don’t need- I don’t care about them. I really don’t.”  
“But I do. What I did, Lambert, we both know what it means. My mutations- they’re botched, wrong, like the rest of my school. I’m going insane.”  
“No. you are not.”  
“Lambert, please, listen-”  
“No! I’m not listening to you if you are- you’re not like them, ok? You are not, you are the best person I ever met, you are my favourite person.”  
Lambert had gotten up and was looking down at Aiden who was still sitting by the fire.  
“You have no right to say those things. I don’t care! They can all die for what I care! The fucking emperor, the rest of my school, the rest of yours, every single person on this goddamn continent can go to hell! I don’t fucking care.”

Aiden was regarding him calmly, still sitting down, still too thin, still afraid.  
“Are you done?”  
Lambert growled, just like the first time they met, his nails etching bloody slithers of moons on his palms.  
“No.”  
Aiden smiled.  
“Come, settle down. I’m ok with this, it’s scary and I wanted to tell you, but I have known for a long time it would happen. I saw older cat witchers, I know how we get.”

“Why are you smiling? It makes no fucking sense.”  
He sits down next to Aiden and the redhead shrugs.  
“You never smile, I have to pick up your slack. I hear the wolves are not the smiling lot, so I must sacrifice.”  
Lambert grunts, still annoyed but relaxing slightly under Aiden’s words.

“You said you liked pretending.”  
Lambert gave him a look.  
“When I was six. What are we now? Fifty?  
“Well, doesn't mean we can’t have fun.”  
He took lamberts hands between his and led him to the ground, next to him, laying together on the sparse grass of the shore.

“We are now the only people in the world. No one else but you, me, and this fire.”

Lambert found himself smiling, against all the pain he felt in his chest, the throbbing in his heart, the twist in his gut. He held Aiden closer to his chest, the other’s head carefully leaning on him, fiery red hair tickling under his nose.

“I like it, even if we are not pretending, as long as I’m with you.”

.  
.  
.

When Aiden told him he had to take care of some business in Velen Lambert didn't pay too much attention to it, they often split up for one reason or the other, and always managed to find each other.  
And they did this time as well.

.  
.  
.

The roads leading to Crow’s Perch were deserted, as usual, not even bandits dared to walk those trails, and so Lambert preferred them, it was easy and blissfully lonely to ride along the trees and distant howls of hungry wolves.

The smell of rot was not an uncommon one in those places, where death thrived more than life itself, squeezing itself everywhere and anywhere it could: in battlefields, pox filled medical buildings, a child’s lungs, or even a mother’s birthing room. It ruled over all, there was no chance to escape and no one to ask for help. That reality was especially true for witchers who lived their lives selling their mortality and died fighting for it. No witcher had ever won that battle.

As a hill became clearer amongst the fog Lambert felt free to let his eyes roam, to let them take in his loved solitude, his lonely path.

The corpse was on the side of the road, a few days must had passed, maybe a week; it looked ruined and violated, an arrow was stuck in it’s eye, it must have been the final blow, coming from afar and landing in unnatural yellow, surrounded by a red fringe.

The other eye was wide open, the pupil only a slit in a milky iris, it’s jaw was slack, dangerous teeth peeking from inside.

Lambert’s horse had stopped, it’s rider not quite moving, not quite knowing what to do, or what he was seeing.  
The witcher dismounted, his movements mechanic, gained after a life passed on horseback, the few steps he took to the side of the road felt too quick, like he needed more time before the inevitable.

But no one was pushing him, it was only him, and Aiden, the last two people in the whole world.

Lambert closed his eyes and pretended just a bit longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this work as a swap with the lovely @OpheliaTheMoth who wrote a Lambert/Aiden fic herself, you can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831291
> 
> It took me a while to finish this, but I'm very happy with the result. I love the Witcher fandom and it definitely deserves more love than it gets, hopefully the Netflix series will help us with that.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, if you have any fit requests or just wanna see what I'm up to you can follow me on twitter here: https://twitter.com/PernillaWrites
> 
> Have a great day! <3


End file.
